


Captain of the Accuser

by Nilaza



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Firmus Piett/ Maximillian Veers (if you squint really hard), Gen, M/M, Mini Fic, Piett's birth planet is horrible, an imperial march 2017, an imperial march day 1: first day, proverty mention, starvation mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 21:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilaza/pseuds/Nilaza
Summary: Piett remembers his first day in the navy, as the new captain of the Accuser.





	

Lying in his bed the evening after watching Ozzel strangulating before his eyes, while Lord Vader’s deep baritone pronounced him in control, Firmus Piett remembered the very first time he had set foot in the Imperial Navy:

He wanted to weep with joy when his transfer request had finally, finally been approved. Not that he wasn’t proud of having rid the Axxilan anti-pirate fleet of corruption, and developed a reputation as the scourge of pirates in the system. But from the day he entered the academy, he wanted to put as many lightyears as possible between himself and his birth-planet.

And here he was, setting his jackbooted feet on the durasteel corridor of the Accuser for the very first time.

If Firmus had not needed to perfect a sabacc face from a very young age, he would have gaped like a fish. The sleek, fitted and well-maintained Accuser, who glided through space with a gentle hum, and nay a sound off, was so very different from the battered, strung-together warship that had been his for the past five years. And he was her new captain, at 27 years of age. Of course, he was proud of his accomplishment, of what his Ma would say if she hadn’t died years before, of the bigger paycheck he could send home to his family.

The Captain’s quarters onboard the Accuser were not big, they’d told him, so he didn’t have any expectations as a subordinate let him in, and handled him the code cylinder. The quarters consisted of an office, bedroom and a fresher. He gathered it was a bit smaller than the apartment he’d shared with his parents and three siblings on Axxila, and parted into fewer rooms.

And it was all his, he had a bed to himself as captain in the anti-pirate fleet, but certainly not three rooms, and not a private fresher. Also, there was no door to lock, which made him sleep with a blaster at his side and an eye ajar always. He had been inattentive once, and only once.

Not willing to recall that particular memory, he sat down his only suitcase and went into the fresher, expecting it to contain a sonic shower and toilet like he was used to. He had never seen a shower like the one in there, however, but he deduced that it was meant for actual water. If he wasn’t so giddy with excitement, and knew he was completely alone, he’d be embarrassed at his poor man’s reaction to what was probably very mundane for anyone else. 

He had about an hour before he was supposed to report on duty, so he slipped out of his clothing and into the shower. The water was just the right temperature, and he couldn’t help groan in pleasure as it splashed all over his body. The rain was acid on Axxila, and therefore he hadn’t been in or around large bodies of water much. The water cascading down his body was an entire new sensation, and he wished he would never have step out. He grabbed the bar of (white!) soap, and begun applying it to his body, hands running over old scars, half-visible ribs and hard-earned muscles. Scrawny he might be, but he had to learn how to fight, and quickness with fists blaster had earned him his former crewmembers’ respect.

After almost half an hour immersed in the shower, Firmus fingers were wrinkled, and his skin was steamy and red from the heat, hair plastered to his forehead, and he stepped out to dry off. He expected comments about taking too long, before remembering he was alone.

He donned his uniform, and fiddled with his rank insignia for a while and looked in the mirror; the olive-green uniform gave him an air of authority, it also served to hide the most of his scrawniness.

The meals were yet another thing that would take getting used to. On the anti-pirate fleet, he ate when he had the time, often awful ration-bars or a few cups of caff. In the Imperial Navy, there were three meals a day, on specific times, per the informative officer who showed him around the ship. Three meals a day, and he didn’t even have to pay for them.

Firmus had been on and off starving his entire childhood, until entering the academy when he turned sixteen, therefore, he never failed to stuff his stomach when he had the opportunity. He would never forget the sensation of going hungry to bed, again, because it was the end of the month, and his little sister desperately needed new boots, or his little brother a new coat. At least once he began making money working for the fleet, that part of life had been a little easier for his family.

The food was great, to Firmus’ taste, he heard the light grumbling of a pair of officers further down the table, Core Worlders, according to their accent. They didn’t like it, called it boring and too salty, but it was warm, and there was plenty. 

He didn’t rise before he had to, savoring every bite, and that he needn’t hurry. After dinner, he was supposed to show at a meeting of all the superior officers of Death Squadron. On the famous Lady Executor herself.

The conference room felt cramped, it was already hot from the many officers in there when Piett entered. He recognized Admiral Ozzel in the far end of the room, speaking to someone he didn’t know, but as everyone else was seated, Piett looked around for an empty chair.

He spotted one and walked over, “excuse me, is that seat taken?”. The man in the next chair turned to look at him; he was rather large, almost two meters, Firmus guessed, and visibly muscular even under the uniform, with brown hair and hazel, intelligent eyes. Aw shit, he’s hot, was the first though through Firmus’ head.

The stranger gave a charismatic smile which did not help the entirely ridiculous fluttering feeling in Firmus’ stomach. “No, please sit. Colonel Maximillian Veers,” he offered Firmus his hand. The Maximillian Veers?

Firmus took it, “Firmus Piett, new Captain of the Accuser.”


End file.
